Энди Вейр - Artemis

Nothing. He hadn’t noticed me come in and didn’t hear me speak. He’s like that.

I smacked him on the back of the head and he jerked away from the microscope. He smiled like a child seeing a beloved aunt. “Oh! Hi, Jazz! What’s up?”

I sat on a lab stool opposite him. “I need some mad science from you.”

“Cool!” He spun his stool to face me. “What can I do?”

“I need electronics.” I pulled schematics out of my pocket and handed them over. “This. Or something like it.”

“Paper?” He held the schematics like they were a urine sample. “You wrote them on paper?”

“I don’t know how to use drafting apps,” I said. “Just—what do you think?”

He unfolded the paper and frowned at my scribblings. Svoboda was the best electrical engineer in town. Something like this shouldn’t be a challenge for him.

He turned the sketch sideways. “Did you draw this with your left hand or something?”

“I’m not an artist, okay?”

He pinched his chin. “Art quality aside, this is an elegant design. Did you copy it from somewhere?”

“No, why? Is something wrong?”

He raised his brow. “It’s just… it’s really well done.”

“Thanks?”

“I never knew you were so talented.”

I shrugged. “I found electronics tutorials online and worked from there.”

“You taught yourself?” He looked back to the schematic. “How long did it take?”

“Most of the afternoon.”

“You learned all this today ?! You’d make a great scientist—”

“Stop.” I held up my hand. “I don’t want to hear it. Can you make it or not?”

“Sure, sure,” he said. “When do you need it?”

“The sooner the better.”

He tossed the schematics on the lab table. “I can have it for you tomorrow.”

“Great.” I hopped off the stool and whipped out my Gizmo. “How much?”

He hesitated—never a good sign during negotiations.

He’d done odd jobs for me for years, mostly removing anti-piracy chips from smuggled electronics. He usually charged 2,000ğ for freelance work. Why was this time different?

“Two thousand slugs?” I suggested.

“Hmm,” he said. “Would you consider a trade?”

“Sure.” I put my Gizmo away. “Need something smuggled in?”

“No.”

“I see.” Goddammit, I’m a smuggler! Why did people keep asking for other shit?!

He stood and gestured for me to follow. I went with him to the back corner of his lab where he did his off-book work. Why buy your own equipment when the taxpayers of Europe will buy it for you?

“Behold!” He gestured to the table.

The item in the middle wasn’t much to look at. Just a small, clear plastic box with something inside. I took a closer look. “Is that a condom?”

“Yes!” he said proudly. “My latest invention.”

“The Chinese beat you by seven centuries.”

“This is not your everyday condom!” He slid a thermos-size cylinder over to me. It had a power cable and a hinged top. “It comes with this.”

I opened the top. Tiny holes inside adorned the walls and a rounded metal cylinder stood mounted to the bottom. “Um. Okay…”

“I can make a profit by selling these kits for three thousand slugs each.”

“Condoms only cost fifty slugs. Why would anyone buy this?”

He grinned. “It’s reusable!”

I blinked. “Are you shitting me?”

“Not at all! It’s made of a thin but durable material. Good for hundreds of uses.” He pointed to the rounded metal part of the device. “After each use, you turn the condom inside-out and put it on this cylinder—”

“Ew.”

“Then you turn on the cleaner. There’s a liquid cleanse cycle and then a high temperature bake for ten minutes. After that it’s sterile and ready to use again—”

“Oh God, no.”

“You should probably rinse it off first—”

“Stop!” I said. “Why would anyone want something like this?”

“Because it saves money in the long run, and it’s less prone to failure than a normal condom.”

I gave him my most dubious glare.

“Do the math,” he said. “Normal condoms cost way too much. No one manufactures them locally—there’s no raw materials to make latex. But my product will last through two hundred uses, minimum. That’s ten thousand slugs of savings.”

“Huh…” Now he was speaking my language. “Okay, maybe it’s not so crazy after all. But I don’t have money to invest right now….”

“Oh, I’m not looking for investors. I need someone to test it.”

“And you think I’ve got the dick for the job?”

He rolled his eyes. “I need to know how it feels for the woman.”

“I’m not having sex with you.”

“No, no!” He winced. “I just want you to use it the next time you have sex. Then tell me how it affected your experience.”

“Why don’t you bang a girl and ask her yourself?”

He looked at his shoes. “I don’t have a girlfriend and I’m terrible with women.”

“There are brothels all over Aldrin! High-end, low-end, whatever you want.”

“That’s no good.” He crossed his arms. “I need data from a woman who is having sex for fun . The woman has to be sexually experienced, which you definitely are—”

“Careful…”

“And likely to have sex in the near future. Which, again—”

“Choose your next words wisely.”

He paused. “Anyway. You see what I’m after.”

I groaned. “Can’t I just pay you two thousand slugs?”

“I don’t need money. I need testing.”

I glared at the condom. It looked normal enough. “So it’s effective? You’re sure it won’t break or anything?”

“Oh, definitely. I’ve run it through a battery of tests. Stretching, pressure, friction, you name it.”

A disturbing thought popped into my head. “Wait. Have you used this one?”

“No, but it wouldn’t matter if I had. The cleaning process renders it sterile.”

“Are you kidd—” I stopped myself and took a breath. Then, as calmly as I could, I said, “It would matter, Svoboda. Maybe not biologically, but psychologically.”

He shrugged.

I deliberated for a moment, then finally said, “Okay, it’s a deal. But I’m not promising to run out and get laid.”

“Sure, sure,” he said. “Just… whenever the next time it comes up naturally, you know?”

“Yeah, all right.”

“Excellent!” He picked up the condom box and cleaning device and handed them to me. “Call me if you have any questions.”

I took the items gingerly. Not my proudest moment, but logically speaking there was nothing wrong with it. I was just doing some product testing, right? That’s not weird, right?

Right?

I started to leave. Then I stopped and turned back toward him. “Hey… have you ever heard of something called ZAFO?”

“No, should I have?”

“Nah, don’t worry about it. I’ll drop by tomorrow afternoon to pick up the device.”

“It’s my day off. Want to meet at the park instead? Say, three p.m.?”

“That works,” I said.

“Can I ask what this thing is for?”

“Nope.”

“Okay. See you tomorrow.”

Conrad Down 6.

I drove Trigger down the familiar hallways and tried to ignore the sinking feeling in my gut. I knew every crooked hallway, every shop, and every scratch on every wall. I could close my eyes and tell where I was just from echoes and background noise.

I rounded the corner to Crafters Row. The best tradesmen in town worked here, but there were no flashing signs or advertisements. They didn’t need to draw in customers. They got their business through reputation.